A Johnlock Collection
by whatdoyoumeanionlygetoneotp
Summary: A variety of johnlock one shots that I've just collected together. (Including previously individually published shorts of mine) AUs and regualar, no slash but fluffyness abounds! (I warn you though, it could get angsty...) I get bored guys, send me prompts :) Please review whatever you think Rated T to be safe
1. Chapter 1

_Imagine your OTP going ice skating. Person A is terrible at it and has to cling to Person B for support. They hold hands for each other's warmth because both of them forgot to bring gloves and afterwards they buy hot chocolate from a street vendor and huddle together as they walk home in the snow._

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Completing his forth circuit, John slid slowly up to the edge of the rink and put his arm over the side. He liked ice skating, the cold, northern winters had given him lots of practice, plus the fact that his father had taken them to Canada more than once. Once he had got his breath back, he turned his attention to trying to spot the dark hair and pale face of his companion. It didn't take long. Sherlock was standing alone the other side of the large white expanse, right in the corner, clinging to the side. His expression was sulky and john smiled to notice the snow all down his long coat. He too has forgotten gloves.

Determined not to let this ruin their evening, John pushed off from the side and smoothly glided over. The silver blades angled as he ground to a halt, spraying little chunks of ice up his leg.  
"Having fun?"  
"No."  
"Why not? This is great!"  
Sherlock raised his eyebrows scathingly, "it's impossible."  
John laughed, "it's not impossible Sherlock!"  
"Ok maybe not in terms of physics but... why are you laughing?!" trying desperately to supress another giggle, he held out his hand, fingers outstretched. Sighing, the taller of the two boys took it, muttering "I still won't think it's fun."

Now that their fingers where interlocked, John lead with confidence.  
"Just put one foot in front of the other..." he coaxed.  
"I tried that!"  
"Try it again!" this proved unsuccessful however as Sherlock slipped forward, pulling John down with him. Pain shot through his wrist, he had put his hand out to break the fall. They were lucky it was the latest slot, if the rink was crowded they would probably have taken down a few more people, it was quite a dramatic fall. Sherlock scowled as he sat up, "that's the second time I've fallen over!"  
"You're supposed to fall over!" John couldn't help giggle at the look on his friend's face, "it's part of learning! I wish you hadn't pulled me over too though..."  
"That was your fault, you had my hand..."  
"I suppose I did..." pale flecks of snow were starting to fall, resting on Sherlock's soft curls and clinging to his long dark eye lashes. The cold brought a hint of colour to his usually pale cheeks. "you've got a bit of snow..." John murmured softy, untangling his hand from his coat and brushing the crystal flecks from his companion's eyebrow. They stated at each other for a moment, before realising they were still sat on the middle of the ice. Standing up, Sherlock clutching his short friend for support, they made their way to the side again.  
"I still don't think this is fun..."  
"Really?" god, he could be stubborn sometimes,there was nothing else for it,"even when..." but he didn't get a chance to even finish the sentence, Sherlock knew what he was going to say. Their lips touched as they wound their fingers closer and closer together. It was only for a second. "Well, if you're still convinced this is no fun, then I suppose..."  
"Let's go back."  
"Alright, but," John had spotted a street vender out of the corner of his warm grey eyes, "can we get a drink first?"

The cardboard cup warmed his hands, which was a great relief. He still couldn't believe they'd both forgotten gloves... They sat, huddled close together, on a cold metal bench, still clutching each others hands for warmth, slowly sipping away as the snow began to fall more heavily. At long last he reached the final dregs of the drink, the only remaining drops of hot, steamy chocolate slipped down his throat easily. Milky, just how he liked it. Closing his eyes, John rested his sandy head on sherlocks shoulder. Ice skating was pretty tiring, his ankles still ached from the oversized boots. It was the smallest size they had left, something which Sherlock had been quick to smirk at.  
"Finished?" a low voice brought him back and he raised his head, eyes flickering open.  
"yeah," he yawned.  
Sherlock laughed softly, "wow, you are tiered. Better get you home before your mother has a fit."  
"You're exaggerating!" John shoved him playfully as they stood up.  
"I'm not, I promise! The only condition she let us go was we had to be back by ten, remember?"  
"Well we'd better hurry then..." but they didn't. They carried on strolling slowly down the icy road, hands clasped firmly together for support, pressed up against each other. Side by side in the snow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Name: **The Mistletoe Debacle  
**Summary: **A christmassy short involving mistletoe, need I say more?

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The pale mint green leaves and silvery white spheres blossomed above us, seeming to grow lower and lower towards our heads the longer we stayed there. Intertwined, interlocked. Eternal. My fingers encased in his, his thumbs caressing the back of my hands. Our lips touching, tasting the sweat from the humid party atmosphere. Soft skin and dry lips and hot foreheads pressed together, fierce but gentle, harmless.

But I should probably explain how we got there...

I was thirsty. The room was ridiculously hot and so full of people dancing you couldn't move for sweaty bodies pressed against each other. I've no idea why mum invited so many people. Struggling through the crowd I managed to escape into the relatively cool corridor. Clutching my glass, I made my way down the hall to the bathroom, admiring the decorations with a touch of disdain. Mistletoe. Mum was such a sucker for stuff like that. I turned the corner, sighing. And that was when I saw them.  
My sisters face glued to her friends (well, evidently they were more than friends), their bodies locked in a tight embrace. I nearly dropped my glass. Harry? But she... I could see her shoulder blades through her tight tank top and the shoulder strap of her bra had fallen down her freckled upper arm, her dirty blonde hair ruffled from the kiss.  
"Harry?!" they broke apart with a noise like a plunger being withdrawn from a sink and her face turned to mine with a look of shock, confusion, fear and rage.  
"John?!"  
"What the hell..?!"  
"I might ask you the same question!"  
"I'm getting a drink, what, you know mum is just down the hallway!"  
"And?! She put the bloody mistletoe up!"  
"Well, well can I at least get through?" I tried to squeeze past her not she grabbed my shoulders and pushed me violently up against the wall with the heel of her hands.  
"You can't tell mum."  
"I wasn't going t..."  
"John I'm serious!"  
"Ow, Harry could you please..."  
"Swear you won't tell her or so help me..."  
"Ok, ok! Jesus I swear, ok?!" the pressure of her hands vanished and, turning and grabbing the wrist of her slim companion, she stormed away. Presumably to find another secluded corner.

I stood alone and befuddled in the hall, still turning over the events in my head when he rounded the corner and came into view. I smiled,  
"You thirsty too?"  
"Why is your sister kissing another girl in the middle of the hall?"  
"Um, she's kissing another girl because she likes her, and they're kissing in the hallway because that's were the mistletoe is."  
"I don't understand..."  
"You don't understand that my sister is gay or that they're kissing under mistletoe?"  
"Well, why do they need to kiss under a plant?"  
I stared in disbelief, "you are joking?"  
Sherlock looked at me with a 'spare the how-can-you-not-know-that lecture and just explain' expression, shrugging slightly. I laughed, starting towards the bathroom (which was still about 20 paces down the hall) "Well, its kind of like a tradition. Urban culture. It's like a sort of rule, when two people meet under the mistletoe, they have to kiss..." I glanced up at his face for a reaction.  
"Interesting, so people hang it up hoping to encourage the tradition?"  
"Yeah, I guess so."  
"And it's a rule?"  
"Yep."  
He stopped, chiseled face catching the light from the Christmas lights and the moon beams coming through the snow covered window. His ocean eyes flicked upwards, then back down at my face. At first I didn't understand, I took his index finger loosely in mine and gave him a puzzled look. He rolled his beautiful, unique eyes and stared pointedly upwards again. This time I followed his gaze and saw it. A small branch, white berries nestling in a bed of pale green.  
"Mistletoe..." I murmured, my lips hardly parting. He took a marginally tighter grip on my wrist, pulling me closer so I was closely lent onto his chest. I hated being short, but the height difference meant I molded perfectly to his torso, my head coming just under his pointed chin. I raised my head to look into his eyes again.  
"Your eyes are amazing." smirking, he closed them and bent his face closer to mine, our lips finally touching. I'd been waiting all night for this moment.

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**Please tell me if you enjoyed or you have any other comments through a review, reviews are good :) Also prompts, I love prompts and I don't get very many, so I will do them all! **


	3. Chapter 3

**this one goes out to Fantasia Sedai who requested some kissing in the rain. It might have ended up more angsty then originally planned...**

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Shit.

I cant see him. I cant see anyone, anything. Darkness and smog and a few street lamps, the corner of a building and the heavily graffitied wall maze around me, nothing else.  
A shot.

Shit.

My heart's beating completely out of time, I can feel blood pumping furiously, my body screaming out to me I do something, to move. But I'm rooted to the spot, mind totally blank.  
Then there's another shot and my head reels, suddenly a flood of thoughts and emotions that I know can't help me. What if he's hurt? What if he's dead? 'No, don't think about it' I tell myself, spinning round and picking a filthy street corridor to run down, 'don't think about that..' but I can't help myself, what if he's dead? What happens to me? What would I do? How would I go on?

I stop at yet another junction, turn to stare feverishly down the different options and start to truly panic. What do I do? Do I shout? Part of me wants to, to scream his name out and get this over with and hold him and be safe and go home and never leave. But should I? That would give away my position, what of they've got him? What if I'd be pulling him right into a trap?

I don't know why but it's the rain that makes me do it; large drops hitting my head, slowly at first, then faster. The heavens open and I'm drenched within seconds. Pounding water as hard and fast as my pounding pulse. Puddles start to form around my feet and drips out of overflowing gutters, and somehow this increases the urgency.  
"Sherlock!" I yell into the rain and the blackness.  
Traffic in the distance and the rain is the only response I get.  
I pick an alleyway at random, there's no point thinking about it, it's just chance, luck, and right now I need all the luck I can get. "Sherlock!" I shout again, but again the only noise is my splashing, slapping footsteps on the uneven concrete.  
Shit, crap. Where the hell is he?! My head is filled with memories and flashbacks of afghanistan, I failed my team there too; getting hurt and loosing people. No, don't think about that, he's not dead, he's not going to die. He's not...  
Tears start to force themselves out of my eyes and slip down my face. 'No', I tell myself again, pushing the heel of my hand deep into my eye sockets, forcing them to stop, 'it's fine, I'm fine, he's fine, don't panic...' But I can't lie to myself.

Another shot.

I flinch, backing against the wall for a second, breathing heavily. Frantic, petrified, but utterly still. The rain has plastered my hair and cloths to my freezing skin, the icy water creeps into my shoes and numbs my toes.

Once more I yell out for him, starting to run down yet another labyrinthine passage.  
Furious heart rate, heavy breathing, aching head, sloshing footsteps, driving rain. Then silence as I turn yet another corner.

No, not silence...  
Footsteps?  
Oh god. It's them. I freeze; they're coming closer, speeding up. Any minute now there'll be a gun at my temple.  
"John."  
It's not them, it's him. Never in my life has that voice been more welcome. I spin around and lunge at him, throwing myself into his chest and wrapping my shaking arms around his neck, burying my fingers into his soaking hair. And then I'm pressing my lips so firmly against his I'm surprised he doesn't fall backwards on the slippery pavement. All that panic, all that fear and dread turns to relief and warmth and passion. He tastes like damp; rain and sweat and salty tears, my tears. Our cloths are sodden and the water wrings out and is re-absorbed with the movement, the familiar blue scarf is almost black and presses so close against my neck the moisture seeps down my collar. The relentless water still drums on our heads, but i can hear my elevated heart rate clearly over it as I always can; even above cat calls and experiments and loud 'mutterings', when he kisses me I can hear my whole body reacting. In the rain his usually free and bouncing curls hang in charcoal black rats tails. My fumbling fingers twist into limp ringlets, winding tighter and tighter, not caring that the water I squeeze out dribbles down my sleeve. His soaked and unrecognisable fringe hangs further down my forehead, it tickles. But I don't care. I thought I'd lost him, thought I'd made another terrible mistake and hurt someone as a result, but it's ok. He's safe, I'm safe, we're safe together.

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**awww, well it made me awww. tell me what you thought :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: Kissing lessons  
Summary: what it says on the tin, fluffyness abounds, enjoy :)**

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Sherlock had never enjoyed physical contact, he didn't really understand the appeal. Caring was not an advantage, that was what he ha always been taught and it'd made sense; but John was different. It had taken a lot of time, over six months, for the two of them to finally confess and a further week for them to do anything about it. When they'd come to the agreement that the best thing to do was start a relationship, it had been very vocal, a lot of awkward moments when they didn't know how close to get. For the detective, this was a very new experience and even lightly brushing shoulders took time to become normal.

After about a month, they'd agreed hand holding was acceptable. Sherlock had been pleasantly surprised; for something his family had always warned him against, it was nice, comforting, safe.

After two months, they'd become even closer - cuddling on the sofa, linking arms, John was a big fan of running his hands through Sherlock's curls. Obviously it had taken longer than the majority of couples to get to this point, but they were there, and that was an achievement in itself.

But now they were at three months, and they still hadn't kissed. To Sherlock, the idea seemed strange and uncomfortable, to be brutally honest it scared him. John had been good about it, he understood this was something new and frightening, but Sherlock could tell he was getting impatient. Dilate pupils, increased heart rate - all the signs were there. Still, he was going to have to wait for god only knows how long; Sherlock wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to take that step.

They were having a quiet night, just staying in and watching a film. John had chosen lord of the rings but wasn't really concentrating, his mind and eyes kept wandering to the man leaning on his shoulder. A month ago this would never have happened, they were huddled together, fingers linked. John couldn't help but be proud of Sherlock; he had managed to dig deep and find the emotion he thought he lacked, he'd overcome his strange hatred of all physical contact and he'd even sustained a relationship for longer than a month. But John couldn't help it, they'd a long way, but he did wish they could push the boat out a little further.

"What?" Sherlock must have caught him staring. Again.  
"What?" John shrugged, turning away to hide the faint blush spreading over his cheeks.  
"Why are you looking at me?"  
"Hardly my fault I can't keep my eyes off you."  
Sherlock shook his head slightly, as of dismissing this as an option. "No, that's not it."  
"It's nothing alright?"  
Silence fell as they both turned back to the tv. It was Sherlock who eventually broke it,  
"You want to know why I won't kiss you."  
"No," John began, but the look on his friends face stopped him and he nodded. Sherlock didn't answer and, regretting his decision already, the doctor blurted out "look it's fine. Whatever you want, I'm fine. Forget I ever said anything..."  
"You have every right to ask," the taller man sighed, reaching for the remote and pressing pause. He took a deep breath before opening his mouth again, "John, I know you've done, this, before, but I haven't. It's just, very new and... unnerving."  
"Sherlock," John soothed, readjusting his position on the sofa to face the other man, "that's how everyone feels! Look, you take your time, whenever you want to alright?"  
"I uh, think I've wanted to for a while."  
John smiled, squeezing the pale fingers, "well why didn't you say anything?"  
"I uh, was... worried I'd get it wrong..." Sherlock muttered.  
"I'm sorry?!" the doctor couldn't help but laugh now, "the great Sherlock Holmes thinks he could actually get something wrong?!"  
"Shut up."  
"Sorry," John grinned then become suddenly serious, "you don't need to worry, there isn't a fixed set of rules. Besides, I could show you..."  
Sherlock didn't answer, he seemed to be considering this. After about a minute, he nodded. John noticed his fingers were shaking and took them in his own to steady them. "Alright?"  
"Yes."  
He leaned closer, gently cupping the detective's face with his right hand, chuckling softly "At least you won't have had your first kiss with an inexperienced eleven-year-old." He closed his eyes, heart hammering at the idea that it was finally happening.  
"You were eleven?" Sherlock asked incredulously when their lips where inches apart.  
Irritated, John pulled back slightly, "Yes, Mary Morston in the year above, but rule number one, don't talk!"  
"I thought you said there weren't any rules?" The taller man smirked.  
"Oh shut up."

Finally… finally, after almost nine months of confused longing for this moment, their lips met. It was only for about three seconds, but they were an amazing three seconds. It was so tempting just to let go and stay there forever and run his hands through the dark curls and slip his tongue into the mouth he'd been unconsciously staring for months, but that wouldn't be fair. Reluctantly, John broke away again and grinned. Sherlock hadn't even moved, he wore his thinking expression, as though contemplating an experiment.  
"Alright?"  
"Interesting."  
"Seriously, interesting? That's the best you've got?"  
Sherlock tilted his head sideways confusedly, "well what do you want me to say?"  
"Well, are you alright? Panicking, calm, happy? Tell me what your feeling, you know I'm no good at the whole deduction thing."  
This comment seemed to be what drove him to giving a proper answer, "I have reason to be more supportive of my hypothesis."  
Sighing again at Sherlock's extreme innocence, John tucked his feet up underneath him and said "what's with all the experiment jargon?" When Sherlock just rolled his eyes he continued "alright, so what was your hypothesis?"  
"That I would enjoy kissing you."  
John smiled, warm feeling was starting to spread from his toes upwards.  
"Is that your conclusion then?"  
"Well," Sherlock lowered his voice to a barely audible and ridiculously attractive murmur, "I would have to repeat the experiment."  
"You want me to..."  
But he shook his head and said nervously, "can... can I try?"  
At this John smiled so widely it's a wander his face didn't split in two. "You think you've got it after one try?"  
In answer Sherlock brought his usually cold hands up, cupping the doctor's face and softly stroking with his thumb as John had done. Then he leaned in so far their foreheads pressed together, his curls ticking the smaller man's brow. Then their lips touched once more; soft, so soft it was almost as if John could feel the space between them, less than a millimetre. Sherlock was teasing him. 'You amazing bastard', he cursed inwardly, 'damn you and your bloody genius, you know what you're doing and you're enjoying it aren't you?!'.  
True to John's prediction, as soon as they were apart Sherlock gave him a victorious smirk.  
"Alright?" he mimicked.  
"You know full well that was amazing don't you? How the hell you managed that… I mean I had to do it at least, what, ten times?"  
The detective grinned again, "I'm a fast leaner."

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**pleeeeeaaaaseeee review guys :) and don't be afriad of prompts, seriously i will do them. i've just finished one for beemoh so that'll be up soon hopefully**


	5. Chapter 5

**Jealous**

I wasn't really enjoying this case. And it wasn't because of all the to-ing and fro-ing, the awkward visit to Buckingham palace or even being attacked by CIA trained killers; it was the woman. Irene Adler and her infuriating obsession with the man id come to think of as mine. At first i'd just thought it was that I found it annoying standing on the edge while they stared avidly at each other, it was irritating being constantly ignored. But really, and I hated to admit it, I was jealous.  
I was jealous because she alone seemed to be able I keep his attention for more than five minutes. I was jealous because she seemed to be the only person he'd ever seen naked and there was nothing about it that unnerved him. I was jealous because she was mysterious and alluring and secretive and interesting and he could read me like an open book. But I think most of all I was jealous because she was confident enough to show her feelings, even if it was in a rather abrupt way, whereas I had yet to do anything.

57 texts. 57 aggravating little moans. 57 desperate pleas for his attention. But the worst part was that it seemed to be working. He was captivated, entranced by her. I suppose this was something new for him, exciting and interesting; I was old news, he'd already 'read' everything about me and moved on. Just when I thought I was beginning to learnt about him.

So no, even as a doctor and - I would like to say - a good person, I was not glad to see her walk through that door very much alive. I didn't know what to say, of course I wasn't happy to see anyone dead, but I had to admit I wasn't missing her. With the competition gone I had finally got round to considering divulging my feelings, now she was back in all her tight leather clad glory and all I could think was how angry and jealous and bitterly disappointed I was.  
But almost immediately I felt guilty, not just for being so annoyed at her return, but because Sherlock hadn't eaten in days, had been composing sad music, had barely even spoken. I mean, he did all that anyway but the suddenly the thought of him not knowing made me feel awful.  
"Tell him you're alive."  
She shook her head, "he'd come after me."  
"I'll come after you if you don't."  
"Oh I believe you."  
I half sighed, half grunted in annoyance. So she was going to just waltz back into the competition and mock me was she? I was angry and I didn't understand.  
"You were dead on a slab. It was definitely you..." I said, finding it difficult even now to keep calm.  
"DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep." she sounded like a primary school teacher, talking slowly and patiently, worried I might snap at any time.  
"And I bet you know the record keeper?" of course the slut must have had help.  
Irene crossed her arms defensively, sensing my strong disapproval. "I know what he likes, and I needed to disappear."  
"Then how come I can see you and I don't even want to." I shot at her, my fists were starting to clench.  
She simply smirked, the corners of her red lipsticked mouth tugging upwards. "Look, I made a mistake, I sent something to Sherlock for safe keeping and now I need it back so I need your help."  
"No." I didn't even think, the word came out of my mouth like a reflex.  
"Its for his own safety."  
"So's this. Tell him you're alive."  
Pause  
"I cant."  
He would want to know. I might not want her back and I had no idea what Sherlock wanted from her, but I knew he would want to know. "Fine, I'll tell him, and I still won't help you." I turned my back on her and strode back the way I'd come, but her voice carried after me.  
"What do I say?"  
I span round, finger nails now digging into my palms, unable to repress my temper any longer. "What do you normally say, you've texted him a lot!"  
Looking rather taken aback, she scoffed, "just the usual stuff..."  
"There is no usual in this case." why couldn't she see that? I mean, I saw that and Sherlock clearly thought she was intellectually superior to me. The way she was chasing the poor man infuriated me, could she not see he wasn't like any other guy?  
Irene widened her eyes for a split second in irritation and pulled out her mobile phone. "Good morning, I like your funny hat..." god. I looked away, overcome with second hand embarrassment and yet severe envy. "I'm sad tonight, lets have dinner." my head whipped round. 'Lets have dinner'?! She was flirting, flirting with Sherlock Holmes. It took all the effort I could muster not to say my Sherlock Holmes. "You look sexy on crime watch, lets have dinner. I'm not hungry," she looked back at me, her gaze steady and mocking, "lets have dinner."  
"You flirted, with Sherlock Holmes?" my voice dripped with contempt in an effort to make her understand the great wrong she had committed.  
"At him. He never replies."  
"Oh Sherlock always replies, to everything, hes mister punchline, he will outlive god, trying to have the last word." yes and you love him for it you stupid bastard.  
"Does that make me special?" she asked, her voice rising almost hopefully.  
It pained me to not know, I wanted to know. This was the question that had kept poking at the back of my mind for weeks now, is she special? "I don't know, maybe..."  
At my answer Irene grinned maliciously, "You jealous?"  
Oh god yes, ridiculously so, I couldn't deny it. But I wasn't going to let her think she'd won, ok so to say I wasn't jealous would be a lie, but...  
"We're not a couple."  
"Yes you are." part of me is boiling with rage at her assumptions and her ridicule, but some small and hopefully well concealed part of me can't help feeling a little elated. So she did know then, and it seemed to me like she thought he felt the same. Wait... She knows?! Oh god, it wasn't supposed to be obvious, no one was supposed to know not even Sherlock, especially not Sherlock... "there," she finished typing, bringing me back from my thoughts. "I'm not dead. Let's have dinner."  
"Who the hell knows, about Sherlock Holmes," I shouldn't still feel the need to defend myself and deny it, but here I am. I'm not going to let her make a fool out of me, "but, for the record, if anyone out there still cares," I look round as if searching for a supporter "I'm not actually gay."  
"Well I am." she retorts "Look at us both."  
And is then that I suddenly realise we're even more similar than I thought. She too is questioning, sucked in by his mysterious and bewitching ways, she too is enticed by his words and enthralled by his exquisite features. Completely and utterly trapped in a circle of confusion. It's ridiculous frankly, that a person, and a person like Sherlock Holmes no less, can make two grown adults question their entire sexuality.  
She knows too, 'look at us both', in that moment we almost bonded, and I hated it. She's still enemy, competition, but in this moment were equal.  
And then his phone goes.

That vexatious moan of hers that he still hasn't got rid of cuts through the air and the silence. Then footsteps. As I here them fading away I hurry towards the way she entered, not really sure what I hope I achieve, I just want to be close to him. It's like an instinct now, I follow where he goes.  
But she holds up a hand, "I don't think so, do you?"

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**This is just a small something for the lovely beemoh who requested some nice jealousy :) If you want to read more stuff like this, i have another collection on Johnlock shorts called 'Nothing Personal'. Also, I did something for Let's Write Sherlock challenge 3 based on the song 'Terrible Things' byt Mayday Parade. It's pretty angsty but if that's your thing, please take a look x**


	6. Chapter 6

**I'd love to say someone gave me this prompt... I would be lying... This is just what happens when you're googling Benedict in suits whilst listening to 'I could have danced all night' **

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"I still don't understand why I have to wear a tie."  
"Because it's black-tie formal Sherlock, the clue's in the name." John replied exasperatedly as he slung the black satin around his useless boyfriend's neck. "I still can't believe you don't know how to tie it."  
Sherlock shrugged, "why should I? I don't wear ties."  
"Well tonight you do," John smiled as he pulled the fabric taught, "we are not giving my mother anything to complain about or she'll never stop... There," he announced, sliding the knot tight and using the materiel to pull himself and Sherlock level to kiss him. "you look great." he did. Well he wore suits all the time, John had hardly seen him out of one except when he sulked around in pyjamas and a dressing gown, but it's one thing to wear cuff-and-collar shirts and tightly cut blazers and quite another to be in a full black-tie suit. It was all well fitted (debatably too tight but John wasn't complaining) in true Sherlock fashion, but hung slightly better. It was almost more flattering this way. "You should wear ties more often..."  
Sherlock grinned at him, his eyes catching the light of the swinging bulb they'd be meaning to buy a shade for, and murmured "maybe I will if you like it so much..."

It was so easy to get lost in those eyes, he only had to stare at you and you were gone. His smile too, the little sideways smirk that made the corners of his mouth and his crinkle...

The honking of the waiting cab snapped John back to the real world and he glanced nervously at his watch. They should have left five minutes ago...  
"Right, well we're already late and you know what my family's like..." it was a birthday do for his mum's 60th, the entire family was going to some fancy hotel for a three course dinner, cocktails, dancing and endless socialising and catching up with cousins you barely remembered. Needless to say, John was hardly bounding with excitement.

In the cab Sherlock seemed to sense his anxiety and reached out a hand, almost expectantly. After a few seconds hesitation, John took it. He was still nervous about PDA; they hadn't told anyone yet. But it was nice, comforting. It always reassured him when their fingers interlocked.

It was very reluctantly that he let go when they reached the hall. He turned to face Sherlock and took the taller man's arms at the elbows. "Remember," he said seriously, "mum doesn't know about us, in fact no one does, and I don't really think this is time or place. So let's just try and keep a low profile ok?"  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, he didn't understand why John had insisted they kept their relationship secret. "What if someone asks?"  
"No ones going to ask Sherlock..."  
"But what if they do? What do you want me to say?"  
John considered this. On the one hand he really did not want to be outed at a fancy dinner party in front of his whole extended family and their friends; on the other Sherlock did have a point, they couldn't hide forever and he didn't want to lie straight to their faces...  
"Alright, if someone asks you can tell them. But don't make a big deal out of it and please just try and... keep it low key?"  
"Alright," Sherlock nodded, "but John?"  
"What?"  
"Does holding my arms in the hallway count as 'low key'?"  
Realising that his hands were still clasped firmly around the detective's elbows, John let go as quickly as if he'd been burned, blushing furiously. Catching the laughing blue green eyes though, he smiled. "Ready?" Sherlock asked, his fingers extended almost automatically before he remembered and tucked them into his pocket.  
John sighed, "as I'll ever be."  
And together they pushed open the door.

The evening passed exactly as John had predicted. Dinner was typical family and work related discussions, although many of his particularly nosy relatives seemed very interested in the tall, dark haired man he had brought with him. John found himself smiling and nodding encouragingly in return to the nervous glances Sherlock was giving him across the table at their relentless questioning.  
Then came cocktails with the expected 'oh John I haven't seen you in ages!' conversations and his (extremely elderly and deaf) grand mother asking loudly if he'd found a job or a girlfriend yet. Couples danced to corny couple songs and made everyone else feel awkward, but when they at last started to play some decent music John couldn't help feeling a bit disappointed. His hands were in his pockets yet he'd still managed to brush them against Sherlock's once or twice and once dinner was over they'd been almost joined at the hip. But that wasn't the same as a dance and he could see on the detective's face that he too felt he was missing out.  
His mother worked her way through a large pile of gifts, most of which were photo albums or vouchers. Most people refused dessert and had another glass of wine instead. It was early morning by the time people began to leave and even then John and Harry had to stay even longer and make sure their mum got back to her hotel safely.

The clutter and dust that awaited them at 221b had never seemed more welcoming, it was all John could do not to flop onto the sofa and never get up again.  
"God that was an ordeal," he yawned, "I'm gonna make a cup of tea, do you..." but he was cut of mid sentence by Sherlock fiercely pressing their lips together. When he broke it he beamed more widely than he had all evening.  
"I've been waiting almost five hours to do that."  
John couldn't help feel guilty, "We will tell them ok?" he said, reaching up to fiddle with the taller man's tie, "Just... just not yet..."  
"I know, I just, would have liked to dance with you..."  
"You can dance with me now," the doctor grinned, guiding Sherlock's hands to his waist. Together they shuffled awkwardly around the furniture before Sherlock snatched up the remote and turned the stereo on. John smirked as Audrey Hepburn's soft voice hummed around the room, 'must be radio three, playing show tunes this early' he thought, and then laughed out loud.  
"What?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.  
"Nothing," the shorter man chuckled, "just, I can't believe it took me this long to figure out I'm gay when I can instantly recognise 'my fair lady'."  
The detective smiled and the corners of his eyes and mouth crinkled. "Never seen it..." he murmerd, wrapping his arms more firmly around johns waist  
'great, now I'm gonna have to watch it with him' the blond registered dimly before standing on tiptoe to cross his arms around the Sherlock's neck.

He would never have thought Sherlock would be one for dancing, in fact he had only found out by accident whilst channel surfing. He flicked past strictly come dancing and Sherlock had muttered something like 'she's got terrible rise and fall' and John had laughed and said 'yeah, like you could do better'. He should have realised what would come next, Sherlock was always keen to show off. What he didn't think anyone would have expected was that he would be swept off his own chair into hold.  
He had never enjoyed dancing really, but that was probably because he'd never had a partner who actually knew how. Admittedly, it did spoil it a bit when Sherlock started criticising his hand position or something, but it was much better being spun around confidently than awkwardly, and he didn't have to worry about leading.

_I'll never know what made it so exciting_ sang the radio as the two men twirled and laughed around the flat, knocking into several piles of case studies and almost falling backwards into the kitchen table. The music gave John new energy after the long evening, he didn't feel tiered once he had Sherlock at his side... well, closer than that...  
_Why all at once my heart took flight_  
After almost five hours of trying desperately to keep his hands off, Sherlock was even more energetic that usual. He pulled the shorter man even closer and spun them around and around until the were both so dizzy they collapsed onto the small sofa. They lay facing each other sideways, giggling like children. That is until the cushions began to sag... With a thud the two of them slid off the leather and rolled across the threadbare carpet, John ending up in top. They were breathing heavily, but still smiling. As the song drew to it's climax and Audrey belted out her final note, John couldn't help himself. His fingers fiddled with the black satin, "god you look good in that tie..." and he used it to pull Sherlock towards him and press their lips firmly together**.**

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**So, tell me what you think :) and I'm serious about prompts guys, I WILL do them! Right now I'm working on a teenlock short so that'll probably be the next upload**

**thanks ily all xx**


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